


The Lines that Separate

by xox_luva



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Demons, F/M, Ghosts, Gore, Horror, M/M, Murder, Romance, Stalking, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xox_luva/pseuds/xox_luva
Summary: While James Grant and his friend Matt scoped out the old church on Wakes Road, as a possible location for their upcoming film project, something watched them. Then, it attacked. Now, as Matt’s life hangs in the balance, James must rely on the help of a few talented friends to save him. Though he’ll soon learn that the answers to getting his friend back are closer than he initially thought. But they won’t come without a steep price to pay, forcing James and his new friends to take a closer look at themselves and discover what they are willing to sacrifice, to save Matt and each other.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an original fiction. All characters belong to me. :)

As most stories usually start, there was a woman.

A pretty woman, much older than him, older than his own mother was at that time. He could have picked her face out in a sea of dozens. James didn’t know her name, she never spoke to him. But she had hair like the sun on bright Arizona days, so that’s what he called her.

During the quiet summer nights, when Nana slept on the couch with his brother on her lap, Sunny would chase him through the tall grass at the house on Clayton Street. They would play all night, dancing and hiding until the headlights of his mom’s car shown through the trees.  Sunny would press one red tipped finger again her red painted lips as she ushered him to his bedroom, urging him to be quiet, with cautious glances at Nana. James always giggled at her nervousness, Nana slept like the dead. Sunny would always be gone by the time his mom came up. He never told his mom about her, Sunny was his, something that he didn’t have to share with Jeremy.

The longer James knew Sunny, he noticed, that despite her name, Sunny was quite cloudy. Sunny always seemed sad, but James was small and he wasn’t sure how to cheer up grown-ups. So, he would try to give her hugs and kisses, like he did to his little brother when he was sad, but Sunny never let James touch her, but she would give him a small smile anyway, knowing what he was trying to do.

Still, Sunny never spoke. Whenever James would ask her why, she would only shake her head and run, causing James to forget about his earlier question and chase her all the way down the empty, dark street.

It wasn’t until the end of the summer when James turned eight years, his mother found out about Sunny.

It was late and Anna Grant had a rare evening off from work. The windows were open in the kitchen hoping for a breeze to counter the aggressive Arizona heat. He hid behind the wall, watching his mother work, his mouth watering at the smell of chocolatey confections. Sunny awkwardly stood next to her, at the stove, but James paid little attention. He saw Sunny every night and he was lucky to see Anna a few times a week. Though it was odd that she was standing in his kitchen, Sunny usually shied from his mother and Nana. Maybe she’d made an exception for his birthday.

His mother turned, spotting James near the wall.

She smiled and beckoned her little boy over. James moved to her empty side and peered heavy, silver mixing bowl. He grinned at the sight of chocolate cake mix, before looking up at his mom.

“Are you ready for your birthday party, Jamie,” Anna asked, handing James the spoon she’d used to stir. He nodded licking the sugary frosting in earnest.

“Mom,” he said suddenly, “Why don’t you and Sunny wear the same kind of clothes?” He’d never seen Anna and Sunny next to each other, so he’d never thought to ask before. But Sunny flowered dress, with the collared neck and the puffy skirt, was vastly different from Anna’s high waisted jeans and dark blue sweater.

Anna laughed and ruffled his hair before asking, “Who’s Sunny? Your imaginary friend?” She set the mixing bowl of frosting inside the fridge and the cake in the oven.

“No,” James said adamantly. He was eight years old now, too old for any imaginary friends. “Sunny is real, we play hide-and-go-seek every afternoon when you’re at work and Nana comes to watch us. You just can’t see her.”

His mother nodded absently, working on another treat for his birthday. She didn’t believe him. “Why can’t I see her, then?”

He thought about it for a moment, before he concluded that he didn’t know. So, he ignored the question. “She is real, Mom,” James insisted, putting the frosted spoon down on the counter top, “She standing right next to you.” Sunny shook her head at him, her curls bouncing, her face paler than usual. “You want to see her?”

“Sure, honey.” She pressed dinosaur shapes into chocolate chip cookie dough.

James looked at Sunny, who gazed at his mom with wide eyes, “Show her,” he said. “Show her that your real. That I can see you.”

Ana paused, arms deep in dough, her brow furrowed as she looked at her son, “Honey,” she began, her voice soft as the pillows on his bed, concerned.

The smoke alarm blared angrily. There was no smoke.

The windows slammed shut. There was no wind.

The lights went out. There was no bad weather.

In the dark James, couldn’t see Sunny or his mom anymore. He didn’t it. The dark had arms and legs and teeth and faces, that scared him. Sometimes they laid next to him in bed, sometimes they made scary faces at him. He called them “the others” because they weren’t like Sunny. In his mind, they were the same. They were the separation between good and bad. Not knowing that it was only the distinction between bad and worse.

Somewhere in the distance, Anna screamed like she’d moved far away from him when the lights went off.

“Jamie,” his mom was scared too and she was a grown-up, which made him feel better, “Let go of my legs, James,” her voice was breathless and shaky.

“I’m not holding you, mommy.”

There was a thud.

Something hit the floor hard.

The others were there now. Silhouettes of dark shapes in the, well, darkness. Sometimes they like to knock things down and make his fall.

James closed his eyes. He didn’t know how he could still see them in the dark, but he did and he really, really didn’t want to see them, “Sunny,” he called out. She could protect him, his mom couldn’t. They came with her when she first arrived, so she could take them away.

“Stop it, James” Anna yelled, “Don’t say that name anymore.”

“But,” he only wanted to explain that Sunny wasn’t bad, she just wanted to show her.

There was a hum of electricity as the lights flicked back on. His mom stood near the back door, her hand on the doorknob, shocked. Pots, pans, cookie dough, and spoons littered the floor between them. Anna stepped over them as she snatched James’s hands, then ran out of the front door. Later, she gathered enough courage to run back inside and grab his brother, who’s slept through it all. Jeremy had more in common with Nana than he knew.

They’d stayed with Nana for a whole day before the news arrived that their old house burned to the ground, leaving nothing in its wake.

An electrical accident, they called it, but James had seen his mother go back inside with the lighter and a small pair of scissors. At the time, he hadn’t been able to put two and two together.

After they left that old house on Clayton street, the others stayed with him. They followed him, silent and distance, but he never saw Sunny again. And he never dared utter her name in front of his mother again.

When he was older, James learned that they were ghosts and the ability to see them was a rare talent. After what happened at that house, he’d never told anyone about them again. Though, he’d also never met another like Sunny.

As he grew he mostly tried to ignore most of them and they let him. Usually.

But sometimes, he would cross paths with a different kind of ghost. One more distinct. Persistent. This one followed him inside the men's bathroom after his math class.

One minute he was zipping up his slacks, the next minute there was a looming figure inches away from his face. James flinched. Startled, but not afraid. The ghosts never hurt him, he didn't think they could. But he took a cautious step back. The ghost followed.

He could leave. Walk straight through the ghost. The feeling would be strange, a sort of hollow chill. But it could be done.

The ghost opened its mouth. Stretching it in a wide circle well beyond a normal person's capacity. Inside it, was dark. Not the usual type of darkness, but a void. An absence of something that should be there but isn’t.

It held his gaze and did not move. And did not speak. They never did.

"What do you want," he demanded, an eerie feeling bubbling underneath the surface of his skin.

The woman did not answer. Her murky gray eyes did not blink.

But her mouth stayed open. Her face unmoving, save for the silent scream.

James sidestepped her in the tiny stall, going for the door. If she would not communicate, he had no reason to stay. He put his hand on the latch when he felt the sudden damp cold on his arm. The cold that burned his skin like he’d brushed against an open flame. He jerked his hand back, staring at the woman. She stood directly behind him, mouth normal now, puffs of icy breaths escaping her nose, making the hair rise on the nape of his neck.

This odd ghost that did not want him to leave yet gave him no reason to stay.

He turned. "Tell me what you want," he said again, "Tell me or I'm going to leave." James threatened but it was in vain. She did nothing and he knew very well that she could follow him if she chose to do so.

She opened her mouth again, the same silent scream. No sound came out, but the air crackled. With electricity? Strands of the woman's tangled black hair lifted from her head, floating.

James studied her, closely now, despite his efforts not to. In a way, she almost looked familiar, like someone he'd met before but he couldn't place her.

He always tried not to do this. He could not get attached to the ghost. He could not help them, he could not save them for they were already dead and sometimes the threat of what killed them were long gone.

Too many times, he’d gotten involved. Searching for a murderer or an abuser or an unmarked grave. But they were always lost. He could grant them no justice if that’s what they really wanted. The ghosts gave him no indications of what they wanted from him or whether they wanted anything at all.

He sometimes wondered if they simply existed, to... exist.

The ghost like the one standing in front of him was different. Those who interfered with him, refusing to linger in the background. Wanting something.

James gently touched the woman's pale arm. The woman jaw snapped shut as she slashed at his face with nails that rivaled any claws. He jumped back, missing the worst of it, only feeling the slight sting of the attack on his cheek.

The woman didn't try again. She didn't want to hurt him, it was a warning.

The lights flickered.

James wiped the blood on the sleeves of his white uniform shirt, not taking his eyes away from her. The woman's skin grew paler. Beyond deathly pale. Her lips turned blue. She choked. Gurgling. Brown water dribbled down her lips. She wrapped her own hands around her throat. An invisible hand yanked her hair, banging her head against the wall until blood dripped, forming a small puddle on the floor.

Then she stopped choking, inhaling a shaky breath before she slid down to the floor. Curling herself into a fetal position. Silent.

She looked up at James. He looked down at her.

Her eyes were entirely black, dead. Or something beyond death, but still existing? Deader?

James looked away, he didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t be helped and she didn’t want to be touched.

The lock clicked. The door opened and he left. Not bothering to stop at the sink, he settled for using the small bottle of hand sanitizer at the bottom of his bag. He was already running late for his media class. Professor Lichen was the strict sort, so he rushed past the students lingering in the hallways as he rushed to the media building, ignoring their cheers and pats on the back.       

Matt saved him their usual seat in the back row and Lichen hardly spared him a glance as he hurried in, already started on the day’s lecture. His friend gave him a grin that James ignored, trying to get his mind off ghost and back into the reality of Documentary Film Production 3000.

“Since this a Junior level film class, I won’t bother explaining the importance of choosing an interesting topic for your film projects. You’ve all had to endure dull documentaries at some point in your academic careers, especially in Johnson’s class,” chuckles scattered across the room at Lichen’s joke about the eccentric Professor Johnson that they all had to get through, to get here. Johnson’s idea of a good documentary wasn’t exactly boring, not to James, it’s just that he preferred nature of obscure plants documentaries rather than the anarchy of the world documentaries that Lichen forced them to view, at least once a week. “I’d prefer not to grade a hundred animal documentaries, so if you all could refrain from those. Otherwise, the topic is up to you.”

Lichen turned back to the dry erase board that still carried the dead words of previous lectures that have yet to fade. She scrubbed the board a bit with the sleeve of her jacket, before scribbling three large words, “Due: May 18th”.

At her podium, she leaned her arms over the top, and the deadline sink in “That’s right. You’ll be starting on your final project during your first week of class and there’s a reason for it.” Lichen paused, pushing her thick framed glasses on top of her dark head. “This semester’s final project is a little different from all others. Usually, when you finish your project you submit it, present it, get a grade, and you’re done. Right? Well, this time, once you submit your projects, an agent from Nether Films will review them and the best one will be entered in the summer documentary festival where there will be producers and directors looking for their next big hit to work on.” Lichen put her classes back on and shuffled some papers on her podium. “After all, you all are the best Easten University has to offer, you understand the enormity of doing well on your projects.”

Her teaching assistant walked around the room, passing out a bright blue sheet of paper. James scanned over it quickly reading over the rubric for the project, hardly registering the words, his mind was already turning with an idea. He had been saving it for his senior project which was supposed to be the most important of his school career but that didn’t seem to ring true anymore.

He wanted to win the film project more than any other student in his class. He deserved to win more than any of them. He had to if he ever wanted to get out of the place that crowded him.

Besides that, James needed the publicity if he ever wanted to get anywhere in the film industry. He didn’t have the luxury of parents that had connections like the other students did. He had to made the connections himself. But it wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. He tried video blogging, where he’d gotten a grant total of two followers. He tried YouTube videos and only gotten a couple hundred of views no matter how hard he’d tried to promote them. Sharing on Facebook didn’t work, people watched the videos but they never got any attention after their short viewing. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

           

          Matt nudged him on the shoulder before pointing at James’ phone blinking and vibrating on the side desk, disrupting Lichen’s lecture. Again. James pressed the side button, ignoring the white lettered name that showed up too many times on his screen before tossing it in his backpack.

          Lichen and the rest of the class watched him silently until he had settled again. Matt had a fist over his mouth, trying not to laugh at the spectacle James was making.

          “Are you quite done, Mr. Grant,” Lichen asked, her mouth tight, one eyebrow raised.

          “Yes, sorry,” James smiled, sheepishly before picking up his pen again, poised to take notes.

          “Thank you,” she turned back to the class, “As I was saying, I will still come to class each Monday and Wednesday for regular class hours. However, your attendance is not required. You should only come if you need help with your project or if you require additional resources. Though, you must update me each week on your projects, so that I can make sure no one is falling behind. Via email is fine or you can bring a written paper if you choose to do so.” A hand raised in the back of the classroom caught Lichen’s attention.

          “How long does the update have to be,” the student asked. James was grateful that Morgan had the audacity to ask since he was thinking the question, as well but he was already on Lichen’s shit list.

          Lichen sighed, “Well, Mr. Taylor, I would not have given a word count requirement but my Spidey Sense is telling me you’ll try to turn in three and a half sentences if I don’t. Am I correct in this assumption?”           

          Morgan pretended to think for a second before he saying, “Maybe four.”

          The class laughed at their antics before quieting down so Lichen could speak. “Only one page, Mr. Taylor, typed or written. That goes for the rest of you as well.” She rested her face in her hand, waiting for any additional question. There were none. “If that’s it, you all are dismissed. Don’t hesitate to contact me or come by during class hours.”

          The rest of the class gathered up their belongings quickly heading to their following classes. James lagged behind them, packing his things as slowly as he could. Documentary film was his final class of the day and it only went down from here. Matt waited for him at the stairs near the double exit doors, since they were both heading to the same place.

          “Mr. Grant,” Lichen called and he tensed, preparing himself for the verbal reprimand for the disruptions, “If I don’t see you again until the end of the semester, I wanted to wish you luck for the season. Take us all the way to the final championship.” She glanced at Matt as an afterthought, “You too, Mr. Lane.”

          Although Lichen was the last person James expected to be a basketball fan, it seemed that everyone in the small town of Easten, Texas was. Down here, it was the only sport they had, something of their own to cheer for. Even though it was only college basketball, that had only been added recently, every game was televised on the local channels, making James somewhat of a small-town celebrity.

          “We’ll try,” James said with false cheerfulness as he and Matt walked out into the hallway.

          He’d hoped that Lichen would have wished him luck in basketball in something other than basketball, somewhere like his project Where he needed it the most. But he pushed those thoughts away as Matt stomped angrily down the steps of the building.         

          “What’s wrong?” James asked, taking long-legged strides to catch up with his shorter friend.

          “Nothing,” Matt bit out, running a hand through his black hair before putting his baseball cap on, covering his eyes.

          “No, seriously,” he asked again, watching as his friend’s grip tighten on each strap of his backpack.

          Matt looked back at James, a step behind him, studying his face. “Seriously? ‘You too, Mr. Lane’, that’s what Lichen said. You were there, remember?” He sneered looking straight ahead, following the cracked sidewalks to the newly built stadium. Easten was an ancient school. Built in the early 1800’s, not long after the town was founded. Though it was continuously being updated, on the student’s dime, they tried to keep the old age appeal. So, the buildings were dark-bricked and sprawling. Separate by yards of trees and black gates.

          “Yeah,” James agreed, “So, what?”

          “So, what?” Matt said, incredulous. “Why am I always the tacked-on thought? The extra? Second best,” he demanded, “I’m as good as you.”

          James nodded, but he knew better than to talk when his friend got like this. But he was right, they both knew it. Ever since they started hanging out freshman year, since they were roommates and both on the basketball team, everyone always regarded Matt as the sidekick. James didn’t think that way, Matt was his closest friend but Matt had a strange fascination with what everyone else thought. James didn’t suffer from the same proclivities.

          “I don’t get it, James,” his voice softer now. “Are you better than me?” He asked quietly.

          “No, Matt,” he said, loosening the tie around his neck and rolling up his sleeves to accommodate the heat that was barely contained by the trees.

          “Then, what,” he demanded, “What is it about you? I don’t see it.”

          “I don’t know. Maybe you’re too aggressive. Too intense.”

          “Oh, yeah, that’s me. And everyone thinks you’re a regular sunshine and rainbows boy. I know you, James. We both know that’s not true.”

          James watched his friend walk further ahead of him, unconcerned. Matt didn’t know nearly as much as he thought he did, and even if the future predicted that they would be friends forever. He would never know all there is to know about James Grant, no one did.

          The vibrating started again at the bottom of his backpack. Debating for a small moment if he should even check to see who it was. This situation was quickly becoming a problem, all the phone calls and the text messages that went ignored but never ceased.

          Sighing in relief as he read the screen, he answered the phone.

“Jamie?” His mother muffled voice said. James heard the rustling of the sheets, before glancing at his watch. It was a little past six.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay,” James asked, “Why are you in bed so early.”

“I worked a double today. Just walked through the door and thought of you, Hun.” Anna Grant said, her voice dim and tired.

“I’m fine, mom.” He told her exhaustion in his voice as well, but they were tired from very different things, “Why are you working double shifts again?”

“Jeremy needs new school clothes already. That boy is growing too quick for me to keep up. Besides, I wanted to get us some tickets, so we can fly out to see one of your games,” she said, brightening at the prospect it, “It’s a shame, Jamie. Your own mother and brother have never seen you play.”

“You guys came to every game I played in high school,” James walked under the awning of the stadium, nodding at his teammates that walked inside. The call would drop as soon as he stepped inside.

“That’s not the same and you know it! It’s college basketball, next you’ll be going to the NBA. I’ll be able to tell Melanie and all the girls at the diner that my baby, James David Grant, is an NBA star,” Anna said, the tiredness leaving her voice as she dreamed of a future that James dreaded, and he only made a noise of agreement. But Anna was his mother and she knew her son, so she dropped it for the time being. “Do you want to talk to your brother?”

“I’ll talk to him later, mom. I have to go to practice.” Mother and son said their goodbyes with promises to talk again soon. He hoped it wouldn’t be too soon, and instantly regretted the thought.

Dragging his feet to the locker room, he pulled off his uniform. He only gave the three ghosts that waited for him a brief glance.  

They were the usual ghosts he saw. Never bothering him. But they were distracting, especially while he was on the court. Sometimes the bright lights, made them seem more solid than they were and James would stumble with the ball thinking he was about to run into a real person.          

Luckily, this was only practice. The ghosts rarely bothered him during an actual game. He liked to think they wanted him to win, so they didn’t bother him. But the truth was he would be too focused on the game to pay attention to them, though that trick never seemed to work anywhere else.

So, James ignored them for the most part and Matt ignored James for the most part, which was fine with James. He had other things on his mind as he mindlessly went through the drills.

The location he wanted to scope out for his project was located on the outer edges of the campus. It was only a fifteen-minute drive but James had no car. So, he would have to make up with Matt if he hadn’t gotten over his earlier irritations if he didn’t want to walk. He probably had, Matt’s anger with his best friend never lasted long.

When Coach blew the whistle, they started cool down laps and the boys ran slowly until their heart rates steadied itself, then they hit the showers. Matt was already getting dressed by the time James got out of the shower and tossed him a cold bottle of water almost causing James to drop the towel wrapped around his waist before reflex forced him to catch it. James mock-glared at his friend. Pulling his clothes out of his gym bag, he quickly got dressed, half listening to the conversations of the other boys.

“Grant!” Kyler Mason yelled from across the locker room, “You coming to my party Saturday?”

James sighed inwardly before answering, “Yeah, man, I’ll be there.” Kyler asked him the same question at every practice and James rarely showed up. Not because Kyler was a bad guy, he wasn’t. It was the crowd he preferred to stay away from.

Easten’s most elite. The most popular, the wealthiest. James could recount what would happen at the parties without having to go. Music would start low and heavy in the background, with red cups being filled and passed around while the guys hovered between chasing girls and talking about basketball games, past and present. The music would get a little louder once the drugs passed around in various pills or small white baggies. By then, everyone would be paired off or content to be alone with the drugs and alcohol. Later, everyone would stumble around half-dressed, half-conscious as they looked for lost friends, rides, and hook-ups.  

James enjoyed all those things as much as the next person, but he couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t belong, though they never purposely made him feel that way. But he was a scholarship student and his dad didn’t buy him a Porsche for his sixteenth birthday and his mom was a full-time President of the Easten Country Club/ PTO. He’d never been to another country, hell, the only reason he’d left Arizona was to come to school. But he was the starting point guard and that made him good enough for them.

Besides the ‘living at the poverty line’, James’ ability to see ghosts drew a thick, heavy line between him and all of them. Not only the rich kids, everyone.

James’s life motto, ‘ignore it and it will go away’ not only applied to the ghost but to other things in his life as well. His phone chirped again with three new messages, he deleted them all before shutting off his phone and shoving it in his backpack.

“It’s her again?” Matt asked as they walked the sidewalk to their apartment. It was dark now, well beyond usual class hours and the sidewalks were empty save for the kids leaving practices.

He nodded but said nothing, he didn’t want to talk about her right now. Matt accepted his silence for what it was and changed tracks. “Have you thought about Lichen’s project? It’s pretty big, right? I was thinking about asking Nina White to narrate. She has a nice… voice,” his grin was lascivious.

Nina was a newscaster, on E.U. News and she would never give Matt any acknowledgment. But James brightened anyway, suddenly excited to talk about something that made him happy as he rambled on about lighting methods, footage splicing, and focal points. Matt was slightly less interested in film, but he was good at it which was why he was in Lichen’s class, as well.

“I want to check out that old church on Wakes Road,” James said.

“The haunted one? The Church of Everlasting Repentance,” Matt asked, looking at his friend incredulously.

“That one,” James paused, furrowing his brow, “Wait, is that what it’s called?” Matt nodded, “Sounds ominous.”

“Definitely. Are you shooting for a ghost documentary or something?” Matt laughed, “You know they aren’t real, right?”

“You’re the one that said the place was haunted,” James said back, “I wanted to check it out. Not for ghosts.” That’s the absolute last thing he was looking for. “A history documentary. I read that the church is all that’s left of the Millwright Plantation, you know what happened there?”

Matt thought for a second, “Something about the son murdering his family and the slaves on the farm and burying them out there.”

“Yeah, that’s what the book said. But I don’t think that’s what happened. Besides the police dug out the farm and they never found anything.”

“Maybe Millwright Jr. ate them? They put him in a mental institution a few years later.”

“But no one found any evidence that he did it, so they never could arrest him and he lived inside that church after they burned down the plantation.”

“You think he hid something there? Think he left a note saying ‘Yes, I murdered my family. Here’s where I hid the bodies for the marvelous James Grant to find a hundred years later.’”

James ignored Matt’s laughter as he opened the door.

There was a face in the doorway. Inches away from his nose.

He jumped.

Matt stopped laughing and for a second, James thought he saw the man too. But he only peaked around him, looking for the source of his halt. Giving him a strange look, he pushed the door open wider, before going inside.

“Did you leave the air on?” Matt shivered as he passed through the man who stared at James with despair. James composed himself, lightly stepping around the man who reached out a grabbed his sleeve with bloodied fingers.

He looked for Matt, who’d disappeared into his bedroom, before prying the man’s fingers off him. “What do you want?” He whispered as loud as he dared. The man opened his mouth so wide, blood welled from the split skin on either side. No sound came out. Irritation suddenly welled up, fast and deadly inside James’s chest. “Leave me alone. All of you,” James demanded. He tried it when he was younger before he learned to ignore the others. It never worked. But these wouldn’t let him ignore them. Not when they popped in and out of places, insistent upon his attention.

The man dropped to his knees and bowed his head. His once brown hair turning rapidly turning a frosted white. He leaned his head back, exposing the pale skin of his neck, miming cutting his throat open with something James couldn’t see. The injury was invisible, as well. But the blood was real as he coughed a bit and it cascaded down, catching in his soiled shirt. He wasn’t done. Taking the object that James could not see, he plugged it into his stomach, his chest, his legs, in rapid succession. Not giving the other wounds enough time to bleed before moving on to the next one.

Stopping suddenly, his hand dropped, next to his leg, still curled, before empty black voids met James’s eye. James was partially surprise the man still sat upright as he stared back at him.          

“I can’t help you,” he said softly, hoping the man would get it and move one. The man didn’t move. “You’re dead,” he said louder, more forcefully. Angry.

That did it.

The ghost could understand him.

His face morphed into something else. Something ugly. Frightening.         

The man stood again. Impossibly tall, long arms that tapered off into long black talons. Black lines appeared across his face, like the human skin he wore was cracking into pieces. Smoke escaped the cracks and filled the room with the smell of death and rotting flesh.

He took a step toward James, who stepped back, his back nearly meeting the front door. But he breathed evenly through his mouth and tried to keep his heart steady. Ghost, like dogs, can smell fear.

It was in his face again. But it hadn’t stepped, it simply moved, from one place to another. Leaning down, the ghost, the monster, brushed against his nose, breathed on him. A horrible noise escaped.

Not words.

A low wailing sound was forced though cut vocal chords. That should have been impossible for anyone to make. Dead or alive.

The monster, the thing, whatever it had become, titled it head at James.

Blinked once.

Shoved him hard into the door.

James’s eyes shut on impact and when they opened again, the thing was gone.

He leaned his head back against the door as he sat on the floor. His eyes stayed opened, though, not wanting to relive that again so soon. There was a distant pain he felt at the back of his head, but he made no moves to check for blood or injury.

Matt hurried around the corner, “What the fuck was that noise,” he asked before his eyes caught James on the floor. Matt was bewildered as he helped him up, “What happened?”

Touching his fingers gingerly at the back of his head, he felt around. No open wound, no blood. He cleared his throat before saying, “I fell.”

“You fell,” Matt asked dubiously, looking from the front door to where James was standing. He knew something didn’t add up. Star athletes didn’t just trip over nothing.

James nodded before backing away, towards their kitchen, “I guess I didn’t eat enough.” James absently rumbled through the kitchen loud enough for Matt to heard, pulling out the makings of a sandwich. “Want one?”

Matt declined before pulling out an old stool that faced the kitchen. Matt watched him while he worked, making James noticeably uncomfortable. “So, hey, did you want to come with me to check out the church? There might be some available ghost girls ready to go steady.” James said, trying to ease the tension.

Matt refrained from laughing at his lame joke. “You’re going tonight?”

“The sooner, the better.” James took a large bite of his sandwich; his stomach growled in anticipation of more.

“I guess I should. You know, make sure you don’t faint again.” Matt grinned as James threw his balled-up paper napkin at him, that bounce right off his squared forehead.

 

Early the next morning, James rushed inside the emergency room, carrying his friend that hadn’t regained consciousness the entire way to the hospital. Sick people watched with curiosity as he ran to the front desk.

“Somebody help me!” He yelled, finally getting the stunned nurses into gear.

One came around the desk, to check vital signs. James had already checked the most essential. Matt was still breathing and he still had a pulse, yet he did not move.

The other nurse called for a gurney and a doctor, both appearing quickly, having hear the code over the intercom. The nurses took Matt from him, placing him on the gurney, inserting needles and monitors on him, while the gurney moved through the double door, leading further into the hospital.

James furiously rubbed his hands together as he sat heavily in a plastic chair, right near the exit. Another nurse checked him over for any injuries. He was fine, save for his leg that wouldn’t stop shaking and his heart that wouldn’t stop racing.

He wasn’t surprise when they showed, the whole incident looked suspicious. A man carrying in another unconscious man. Both in the same place and but having no idea what happened to the unconscious man to make him that way.

The nurse pointed James out to the two uniformed police officers. James sighed when they walked over, it was nearly sunrise and he had yet to sleep.

“Mr. Grant,” the heavy officer recognized him, “I’m officer Watts, this is Martin,” he pointed a thumb at his partner, “Care to tell us what happened to your friend,” he drawled in that lazy southern accent, before looking down at his notepad, “Matthew Lane?’

“Sure,” James said and he told the story for the fourth time that night. “We were in The Church of Endless Repentance,”

“Everlasting Repentance,” the Martin, the smaller, woman officer corrected. “It’s the Church of Everlasting Repentance. You’re not from around here, are you, Mr. Grant.”

“No, I’m from Saniah, Arizona.”

She jotted that down in her small notebook, stern-faced, then gestured for him to continue. He did and they both listened quietly up until the part where he found Matt.

“And you’re entirely sure that no one else was inside with you?” She asked, pen poised, over the notebook.

“No, no one.” What he’d meant was there was no one they would be able to charge with a crime, though there were multiple someones and somethings living inside that church.

The large one took off his cap and ran his hand over thin, sweat-slicked hair. “We always tell you kids not to go playing around that church.”

“Because it’s haunted?”

“Haunted?” Officer Martin scoffed, “No, its private property. Someone still owns it.”

“Someone of the Millwright family?” James probed, fishing for answers.

The woman studied his face, frowning, but answered, “I believe so. The owner’s name is withdrawn, they wished to remain anonymous.”

Officer Watts let out a gruff of laughter “Yeah, the name Millwright is a curse down here. I wouldn’t be too keen to tell anyone I was a Millwright either.”

“But I thought all the Millwrights were killed.”

“Could be a distant cousin or something, that came back to claim the property” he suggested, pulling his cap back over his head.

Martin cleared her throat, “Anyway, Mr. Grant, choose another location for your project. The Church is off limits. Someone will be by to board up the doors, so no one else gets hurt. Oh, and-“

Two radios buzzed with the chatter of criminal activity and the officers prepared to leave. She distractedly gave James her card, “Contact us, if you remember anything else,” she said pointedly, “Go home, Mr. Grant.”

James did eventually go home after Matt’s mother showed up and told him he wasn’t welcomed to stay. And he understood, her son still had not woken up yet and James was the only person there, she could blame. So, he left without conflict and walked backed to their apartment.

There, James found that he couldn’t open the door. The key was in the lock and his hand was ready to twist. But he couldn’t do it. The feeling that brimmed when he was inside the restroom, intensified when he was at the church, and finally crested when he brought his friend to the emergency room and demanded that James accept it.

He was afraid of them. For the first time since he had been eight years old and Sunny left him alone in that kitchen on Clayton Street.

And he couldn’t deal with it.

Yet.

So, he turned on his heal and with no sleep, he headed to campus coffee shop.

 

The booth he chose, in the back, was dim and quiet and the coffee shop was nearly empty. A bleary-eyed barista shoved his large, plain black coffee at him, annoyed that James was interrupting her wake-up procedure.

He took large gulps, burning his throat in the process. The burns or the coffee helped make him feel alive and almost ready to attend his first class in two hours.

Wrapping his hands around the paper cup, he watched the few other early risers or insomniacs. There was a girl, alone, on a laptop probably finishing a last-minute project. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the furious clacking of her keyboard. An older man leaned back in his booth, his face was fuzzy and his eyes were closed as he took a much need nap before he went to teach a bunch of brats that thought they knew more than he did. Then, two guys sat at a small table. One large like a football player, the other slim, like a swimmer. Both brown haired and serious-faced, as they talked. Well, one talked and the other looked down at the table and took steady sips of his coffee.

Though, that wasn’t what caught James’s attention.

There was another woman right next to them. She silently sobbed into her hands, pausing briefly to touch the smaller man on his head or his shoulder, making his mouth tighten as he gave the woman a sharp glance before turning back to the other man.

James watched curiously.

The older one, fed up with the younger one’s diverted attention, stood and snatched the coffee cup. He lifted the lid, brought it to his nose, and said something scathing that caused the other man to wince. He took the cup with him to the trash, tossed it in, and left the shop. The one left at the table, looked up at the ceiling for a moment, before turning back to the woman.

The longer he watched, he realized that he knew him. From one of the few times, he went to Kyler’s parties.

Casey Ashford pulled his phone out of his black slacks and typed quickly on his phone, while the woman still wailed. For a while, neither paid attention to James studying them.

Until suddenly, Casey looked up in his direction and saw where he was looking. Casey looked back at the woman, sluggishly confused, before he looked back at James, one dark eyebrow raised. This time their eyes met before Casey looked away, politely asking the woman if she could please “shut the fuck up”.

She responded words that James would never hear. But James saw Casey’s mouth move over words he couldn’t make out. The woman shook her head frantically, making Casey sigh.

A noise escaped James before he could catch it and Casey slowly glanced over at him.

Then, they both knew.

James stood from his seat and walked back to the front counter. The barista was a little more awake and a lot less hostile, as she handed him another large, black coffee.

 “Can I sit here?” James said and before waiting for an answer, he pulled out the chair that the other man sat in, glanced briefly at the woman, before staring at Casey from across the table. But as he sat there, he couldn’t think of where to start.

Casey blinked lazily before giving him an unhurried, “yes”.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nina White, anchor of E.U. News, mets Easten's star athlete, James Grant. They both need something from the other. Who will give and who will get?

“If anyone has their papers prepared, be sure to set it in the Broadcast Journalism folder, so I don’t get it confused with my other classes,” Lichen leaned against the podium as she spoke. It was still early morning and she already looked haggard. “Unless anyone has any questions about next week's assignment, you may leave. Have a great Thursday. I’ll also be at tomorrow night’s game if anyone wants to stop buy for bonus points.”

Nina White stood in line behind two other students who’d already finished their essays that weren’t due until the next week. The other student leaving glared at them on their way out of the doors. Nina didn’t know about the other two, but she wasn’t the overachiever she appeared to be. In actuality, next week, she had two other projects due on the same exact day and being that she was only one person, something had to get done early. Professor Lichen’s paper was the winner since it was the easiest. The assignment was to write a ten-page critique on a recent news story of her choosing and explain what would make it better. Since Lichen’s class was the most important one she was taking this semester, she wanted to do well on it, without the added pressure of being late. 

Her other classes, however, were a different story.

The next classes she had was scriptwriting, video field production, then communication law. They were all things she learned in her high school journalism program. After those were finished, she headed down to the production studio. Unlike the other students in her class, she was already ahead with her own spot as an anchor on the E.U. Eagle News Station, which she wasn’t supposed to do until senior year. Which is why her entire schedule had to be meticulous. Eagle News broadcasted live to any students watching and anyone lagging, lost their spot.

  Needless to say, Nina was in a hurry. But the two in front, dawdled as they discussed Easten’s deity, college basketball.

  “I heard they canceled Friday night's game,” the lanky brown haired man said to his friend, who stood in front of him.

  The friend looked back in disbelief, still holding on to his paper, “What? Sounds like there’s going to be a riot instead. Where’d you hear that?”

  The brown-haired guy shrugged, “I sit behind Avery Denton in my math class, he was telling Jenna What’s-her-face that Kyler might be throwing his party earlier since they won't be playing.”

 “Seriously? I-“

 “Why won’t they be playing?” Nina butted in, she wanted to hear the rest of the conversation, but her next class was already starting across the quad.

Both men looked at her, slighted by her interruption. “Sorry,” she said, pushed her curls behind one ear, “I couldn’t help but overhear. I was supposed to be interviewing one of the players after the game. That’s why I wanted to know.”

 “Oh, that’s rough. It’s hard to get to them before the newspaper, right? They’re like vultures on a story,” he said in understanding while Nina nodded, “Anyway, Denton said that James Grant and Matt Lane were in an accident on the old Millwright Plantation. Grant’s okay, but Lane won’t be playing. He didn’t even come back to school. Everybody thinks he’s in a coma or something.”

 “Matt Lane?” She knew that guy that James always hung out with but she hadn’t ever bothered to remember his name. Then again, the only time she paid attention to basketball was when she was covering a story. And it was only on the night before, where she would stay up to watch the games and the ESPN discussions and read the player’s tweets, so she would know everything about them. “Would they really cancel the game because of one missing player?

The first guy shrugged, he didn’t seem concerned either way, “I doubt it.”

“I don’t know,” the other said, “It doesn’t make since. One of the players is in bad shape, so they don’t play?”

“Yeah, he’s not dead. They’re not in mourning.”

 Nina slid her paper in the folder and nodded at the two as they continued to discussion stipulations on when a game should be played or not played, but she tuned them out, already wondering where James Grant would possibly be at this time of day.

 Leaving the Media building, Nina pushed her sunglasses over her eyes as she passed right by her English building, with a different destination in mind. She knew one other person who would know exactly where James would be.

  The phone rang four times and Nina considered hanging up when Kyler Mason’s deep voice reverberated “Nina!”, with excessive delight over the line.

 “Where’ve you been, girl? You didn’t come to my back to school party,” Kyler said with mocking disapproval that didn’t cover up the cheerfulness in his voice.

 “I know, I got back to town late. I was still up North with my parents,” Nina said with a groan that they both understood, “I’ll make it up to you.”

 “Bring those cake things to my party this Friday and all will be forgiven,” Nina could hear his laughter over the crinkling of a chip bag.

 “Will do,” she agreed, while also trying to figure out when would have time to make “those cake things” between today and Friday, “But I do have a favor to ask.”

 “What’s up?” The crinkling stopped while Nina spoke.

  “Do you have any idea where James Grant is right now? I need to talk to him.”

 The line was quiet for a moment before Kyler said, “I didn’t know you knew Grant.”

  “I don’t,” Nina replied, “Not really, anyway.”

 “Oh,” Kyler’s voice got louder as he shifted the phone closer to his ear, “You want to ask him about Lane,” he didn’t give her a chance to deny, she wasn’t going to, “I would tell you not to bother asking him, he won’t say anything. But I know you’ll find him another way.” Nina didn’t bother denying that either and Kyler sighed, “You should be able to catch him leaving the history building if you’re lucky.”

 Having made the wrong assumption that James would be at the gym or the stadium, Nina made an abrupt U-turn, almost crashing into a guy on a bicycle. She hastily apologized before moving out of the guy’s way, who glared at her for not looking where she was going, then promptly rode his bike straight into oncoming traffic.

 “Thanks, Ky,” she said, “I won’t be too hard on him, I just-“

 “You need to get the story before the newspaper. Yeah, yeah. I know,” Kyler said in exasperation, “Anyway, don’t forget the cake things on Friday. And do forget your roommate.”

 “Did you and Gabrielle break up again, already? The semester just started,” Nina said, amused at her friends’ on and off again relationship.

 Kyler gave the sigh of the long-suffering, “Yeah, I’ll tell you about some other time. I gotta go.”

 

 

 The History building was true to its name. It looked like one of the first buildings that were built on campus and one of few that have only been renovated on the inside, leaving the outside with old worldly charm. With its dark bricks and four stories of black barred windows that somehow seemed imposing yet elegant at the same time.  

Outside of the building, which Nina arrived five minutes too early, to check out possible exit points and procure a position in which she could see them all. She sat on a bench, nearby.

 There was another girl already there, reading a thick book over the rim of her black framed glasses. Nina smiled politely when the girl looked up and the girl gave her a shy smile back before returning to her book.

 At promptly 10:30, a herd of students exited the building from the left side and Nina stood to pick James out of the crowd. But she didn’t need to. James Grant was a hard person to miss. He towered over all the rest of the students and the sunlight that shown in the spaces between the trees made his golden blonde a halo around his head.

 James broke away from the other students and followed the sidewalk up towards the hill where most of the athletic buildings and dorms were located.

 Nina trailed silently behind him. Observing.

She’d never seen James alone. He was always with one of his teammates or a group of them, laughing and joking about something or another.

 Seeing him alone, though, was odd.

 The sidewalk curved and Nina could see his side profile. His face drawn and pensive. Not quite frowning, but on the verge of it, as if he was thinking about something unpleasant.

 Nina wondered what could make one of the most popular students in the school, look like that when James turned back.

 Nina froze and for a second she’d forgotten what she was even doing there.

 “Are you following me?” James asked cautiously, the “not-quite-frown” replaced with his usual friendly expression. Now, though, it seemed misplaced on his face.

 But Nina didn’t flinch away from it, instead, she walked closer to where he stood, “Yeah, I was. Sorry,” she said calmly, “I’m Nina White, from E.U. Eagle News.” Nina reached out a hand toward him and James grasped it in his, as his face lightened in recognition.

 “Why are following me, Nina White?” James pulled his hand back and slipped them into his pants pockets.

 “First, the news station would like to offer its condolences about your friend, Matt, and we all wish him a speedy recovery,” she lied sincerely, “Second, we’d like to know if you’d be interested in doing an interview with us about what happened to him and how missing one of your players will affect the upcoming season .”

 James started at her blankly for a moment before plastering a tight smile on his face. “I think these questions would be better suited for the Captain,” Nina opened her mouth to interrupt but he wasn’t done, “Either way, I’m not interested in doing any interviews. Especially not to talk about Matt,” he paused, then said, “Thanks for the offer, though.”

Then he left.

 Nina stood there, thinking of a different approach when James abruptly turned back to her.

 “But I can offer you something else,” he said and Nina raised an eyebrow for him to continue. James reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring, deliberating. “You can have all my after-game interviews. I know those are the most important ones. I’ll give you first dibs.”

Nina watched him twirl it around his fingers a few times before she answered, “Didn’t you just say you didn’t want to do any interviews.”

He twirled it a few more times. “I don’t but I’m willing to make an exception.”

 “In exchange for what?”

 This time, James smiled, for real. He had a nice smile. It was open and honest. “I need your help with something. A project, I’m working on. I haven’t figured out all the details yet, so I can’t really explain. But I need to know now if you’re willing to help. If not, I can find somebody else.”

 “So, I’m supposed to agree to help you with a mysterious project without knowing anything about it? You know how strange that sounds, right?”

 He nodded, “It’s nothing bizarre, I promise. But I really can’t explain it, right now. The deal is you help me with this, I help your publicity or whatever on your news show.”

 Nina studied him, closely. He had a trustworthy face and it didn’t seem like he was lying about anything. Though she knew better than anyone else that looks could be deceiving.

But, she did need the publicity that having James on the show would bring. Graduation was only a year away and no major news station would put a nobody on their show. As long as she had this deal with James, she would have their undivided attention.

  “I can back out at any time,” Nina said, adamantly, not leaving room for any argument.

 James lifted one shoulder halfheartedly, “Sure, you can back out and then the deal is off.”

 She wouldn’t back out. They both knew it.

 “Fine.”

 “Great,” James murmured, handing her his phone, the universal sign of ‘put your number in’, “The interviews are for anything basketball related. Don’t ask about anything personal or about Matt,” he said pointedly, pocketing his phone.

 Nina glowered at him and he ignored it. She knew she was being unprofessional and it was so unlike her. But there was something about James Grant, that just rubbed her the wrong way despite his seemingly innocent appearance. Even his voice was softer than she had expected it to be. It was light and airy. Which seemed like it would be at odds with his tall stature and his toned body but somehow, it all fit.

“Okay, you’ll have to give me at least four hours’ notice before you want to meet to talk about your ‘project’,” She barely refrained from using hand quotations. “I’m very busy,” she responded to the look on his face before she walked away.

 Pulling out her phone, she saved James number from the text he sent her. Then shot a quick text to Xander.

 ‘Pulled James Grant for exclusive interviews. He said “basketball only” :(‘

 Xander only took a few seconds to respond, ‘We’ll see. Don’t hang out with him alone. Let me know when to bring the camera.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone reading: Thank you! Please leave a comment and tell your friends. Next chapter coming soon.


	3. Chapter Three

“Got a call from Lane’s mother earlier this morning, she said there weren’t any changes with him yet but the doctors say he’s young and healthy, so he should pull through soon. So, we’re gonna accept that and hope for the best. Now, if anyone of you have any delicate feelings about that, I suggest you go see the school counselor. Tomorrow,” Coach said gruffly, a clipboard in one hand and an iPad in the other. “Because tonight, we have a game to win. In honor of our teammate that won’t be with us.” He looked each of them in the eye for a short moment for his brief moment of silence. “The first game of the season can make or break a team and the Eagles are not going to be broken this night or any night.” The team shouted in agreement and Coach nodded his head in approval. “Now, you go finish the rest of your classes and then come back and practice some more. Then, we go to that stadium tonight and we win that game.”

The rest of the team breathed a collective sigh of relief that they were finally being allowed to leave the practice court but James only half listened to Coach’s speech. Coach was a man of little variation and most of them had already heard most his basic speeches before. Only the freshmen still listened with wide eyes and eager ears. James and the rest just made the appropriate noises at the appropriate times.

But his mind was elsewhere.

All week he had the idea in his head to go visit Matt.  It nagged at him as he ate breakfast alone, while he did homework, and while he fiddled with Matt’s camera. But he never went. It didn’t make any sense to go. In the end, though, he would always talk himself out of it.

What should he go there for anyway? Matt was in a coma, as his mother said and he wouldn’t know whether James went to see him or not.

But the more James inspected and analyzed his feeling of discomfort, the more he realized it wasn’t an intense desire to see his friend that made him contemplate stopping by. It felt more like guilt and he didn’t like feeling guilty.

Because whatever had happened to Matt was his fault. Matt wouldn’t have even been inside the church that night if James didn’t drag him along, because he needed a ride. And if James had been paying more attention, Matt wouldn’t have been able to slip away without him noticing for so long.

James was conflicted. He didn’t know whether it was the fact that Matt got hurt or that it was his own slip up that caused it to happen, that made him feel guilty. Either one would have been sufficient. And which one it was, didn’t matter really, anyway.

He knew it wouldn’t go away, it wouldn’t ease until he somehow assured himself that Matt was going to be all right. Eventually.

So, after practice, he went. Which meant that he was skipping his two Friday classes of business management and economics, that were required of all athletes, just in case a lot of money would soon be coming their way and made his way to Matt’s parent’s house.

The house stood right on the outskirts of Easten, almost inching into a different county. Where the houses were spacious and yards away from the closest neighbor. Right in the thicket of ancient oak trees that cradled the house and made it stand upright and the white flowers that billowed in the wind on the front yard.  It seemed like he’d left Easten and went to a different place, all together.

James tapped three quick raps against the dark wood of the front door. The doorbell was missing, Mrs. Lane didn’t like the shrill noise of it.

Matt’s dog barked from somewhere inside and James could hear the patter of quick footsteps on the linoleum floors.

Mrs. Lane, weathered and exhausted, stuck her frazzled head out of the open door, “How can I help you, James?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Lane,” James said courteously, “but is it okay if I see Matt?”

Aurora Lane studied her son’s best friend of nearly three years. She studied him a moment longer than what should have been deemed necessary but because of the circumstance, there was caution in her eyes.

James swallowed under the scrutiny of being searched so thoroughly, “I just wanted to see for myself. Make sure he’s okay,” he trailed off, with a shrug, before lowering his voice, “He’s my best friend.”

She pursed her lips at his statement, with a sudden irritation that James didn’t understand, but opened the door wider to let him through, “A few minutes should be all right.”

James smiled gratefully, a few minutes is all he would need. Then he started to walk through the threshold when she put her skinny arm out, blocking him. “But James,” Mrs. Lane mouth was a grim line as she stared up at him, “Did you really not see anything that happened that night? I know that’s what you told the police but if there is anything else you not saying…” She trailed off, letting James fill in the blanks on his own.

“I honestly don’t know what happened to Matt, Mrs. Lane. All I know is we got separated and when I found him, he was laying on that table.”

“Altar,” Aurora whispered softly.

James didn’t hear her.

“He was laying on the altar. That’s what you told the police,” Mrs. Lane raised her head to him. Watching.

“Yes, the altar,” he said in apology, “I’m not religious.”

She nodded and before bringing her arm down to let him in.

Up the stairs and down a short hallway on the left side, only one door was opened. He already knew which room it was, being that he stayed with the Lanes sometimes on school breaks when he was too busy to go home. The ceiling light was off but the windows opened to let in the natural afternoon sunlight. Along with the crisp smell of grass that clung to the air of Matt’s bedroom.

There, Matt lay in the bed, covered by a mountain of baby blue comforters and quilted blankets. His usually tanned skin was pallid and taunt. His eyelids, a greyish-blue where they kept his eyes. His mouth, the same bluish-grey was a thin straight line, that did not speak or laugh or smile.

He was as still as death, itself.

James pulled a computer chair away from the desk and rolled it closer to the bed. Closer to his friend.

It was an odd thing to witness. Matt was there, in that room, in that bed. Yet, he was not there, at all. James didn’t know where he was. Did anyone? Was he lost inside of his own head? Forgotten? Or was he held captive, a prisoner of a war that was his own mind? With no bargaining or negotiations with the leader to save him. Because he was the leader and he was the prisoner and he was the executioner. And there was no way out. Except to leave.

Mrs. Lanes peered into the doorway behind them, before James hear the door shut with a click.

Now that he was there, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

There’s a theory that these prisoners can still hear the voices of those around them and they sometimes remember tidbits of conversations when they woke, but James was a skeptic at heart. And besides that, he didn’t have anything he wanted to say.

Really, he just came to see.

See what? He didn’t know.

But he felt the pull, so he followed it.

James gazed out of the window, lost. There was a large willow tree in between the Lane’s house and their neighbors. A little girl with two bright red ponytails sat there, on one of the thinner, taller branches, staring at him with eyes that almost seemed too big for her tiny face.

He waved at her, only because she was watching him.

The girl lifted her hand.

But she didn’t wave back.

Instead, she pointed.

James glanced in the intended direction.

The bed was empty.

Matt was gone.

James jerked from his chair and stared at the place where his friend lay only seconds ago until a cool hand on his shoulder gently eased him back into his seat. It was silent. The wind ceased to blow. There was no creak of the floorboards under someone’s weight, no heavy breathing from exertion, nothing. Dead silence.

James tried to turn back, to see the face of the person that was allegedly comatose which, obviously, was not the case. But long fingers bit into his cheek, forcing him still.

“Matt?” he called out, hesitantly.

Icy breath touched his face before words reached his ears, “Save me,” the voice said, the words sharp and yet hollow as they curled on a sudden gust of air.

It didn’t sound like Matt.

“How?” James asked. “How can I save you?” An afterthought, “Who are you?”

There was utter, unmoving silence again for an eternity of a second. The fingers pushed his face back around.

Matt’s face was the same. His hair the same. His eyes the same.

The only difference was the words that his lips formed but the voice that did not come from his throat.

“It’s your fault,” it said, curling a tight hand around James’s arm, “Go back. Find him. To save me.”

“Who is he?” He didn’t answer. “Matt,” James choked out. Somehow it felt wrong to call it by Matt’s name. “How do I find him?”

The hand on James’s arm became impossibly tight and he let out a quick whimper of pain.

“Find him.” It said. It’s voice hard and unyielding like stone.

The grip tightened and James found himself being lifted from the chair. His body was weightless as he sailed across the room and crashed into Matt’s dresser. Pictures and trophies rained down on his head before crashing on the floor.

The sound that the door made, slamming into the wall was enough to make James open his eyes. Mrs. Lane hurried inside, surveying the room. That was still in perfect order. Her son still lay motionless on the bed, the window still open, the little girl that Aurora couldn’t see was still there. All except James, who slumped against the wall and the broken things that surrounded him.

Just like back at the church and back at the apartment and a few other times in his life that he could recall with perfect clarity, there was no explanation he could offer anyone. No explanation they would expect, or they would believe.

And Mrs. Lane did not ask for one. There were no words that needed to be said beside her telling him to “get the hell out of her house before she called the police”. James looked back at Matt one last time, in the same exact spot he was in when James first arrived, not a hair misplaced before Mrs. Lane noisily cleared her throat.

The front door shut behind him when a bang and James contemplated the whole way back to school that maybe he should have just told her he fell, although it would have begged the question of what he’d been doing to fall in the first place. And for that, like most things, he did not have an answer for.

 

 

Later that night, the Eagles beat the Warriors by a score of 33-7, with their captain, Daniel McCabe scoring the winning shot three seconds before the timer went out. Amidst the cheering and the unrestrained joy of the crowd, Daniel glared at James as they made their way to the stands for autographs and interviews.

James lifted the hem of his jersey to wipe the sweat from his brow, having misplaced his sweatband, before grabbing the sharpie Coach shoved at him. He began signing autographs in a mindless routine, not paying any attention to the photos of himself and his team that he signed.

But he did keep an eye out for brown-skinned, brown-haired, Nina White. Since he promised her that she would get the first after game interviews with him in exchange for her help on his project. Except, she wasn’t there. Maybe she changed her mind? She didn’t seem like the type though. Their deal was too big of an offer for her to miss out of, so there must have been practical reasons for her absence.

“James?” a voice said behind him that neither melodious nor female, “Channel 3 news here. Few questions for you. Based on last year’s season everyone had high expectations for this to be your best season yet, but you started out rough in the first game. Is this a precursor for how this seasons’ going to be in terms of your playing? Were the standards you set in the past just too high for you live up to? Would you care to comment on any steps you plan to take to ensure you don’t become the underdog and lose all chances to play professionally? Is your team going to have to carry your weight this season, since you carried them for so long? What was the cause of your distractions? Is this going to be a recurring problem? Mr. Grant?”

James smiled tightly at the teenager who stood in front of him, holding out an oversized picture of him carrying the championship ball last season. He signed his name in the bottom corner, taking as long as humanly possible, all while pointedly ignoring Channel 3 News, until he was done.

When he turned back, the light on the top camera was blinding and the man behind it was nearly invisible, but he smiled anyway.

“Basketball is a team sport. If one of us falls behind then the rest of the team is there to pick up the slack, which is why we still beat the warriors tonight,” he said, looking out at the crowd, avoiding the gaze of the new anchor that asked the questions.

Kyler slung a sweaty arm around James’s shoulder. “And we’ll keep winning against any team that sets foot inside of Eagle House!” he hollered at the camera and the crowd that heard cheered him on. “Don’t worry about Grant, this was just a warm-up for him. He’ll be back at it, next week!”

Coach nodded at them from half court, monitoring Daniel’s more extensive interview as Kyler pulled James towards the locker rooms while he reminded himself that he only had one more year of this and he was done

“Get dressed,” he said, patting James sympathetically on the back, “you’re riding with us tonight.”

 

Nearly an hour later, James was showered and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt he rarely wore. He, Kyler and three other players from the team hopped out of Kyler’s midnight black Range Rover as soon as they pulled up to a white manor house.

Cars were parked in rows on the manicured lawn and a few students already lingered outside holding red cups and swaying to the steady beat of the music that came from inside the opened doors. James followed Kyler through the living room that opened on one side to an overly spacious kitchen. Kyler’s parents were rarely home, so the house basically belonged to Kyler which he used as a regular hang-out spot, since the ones in town were few and far.  

Opened bottles and cups littered half the marble counter tops. The other half held the plastic bin of Easten’s “blue drink”, which was just a mixture of blue curacao, vodka, grape juice, and lemon-lime soda, that allowed them to pay homage to their winning game and get drunk at the same time.

Kyler served as the unofficial bartender, pouring a cup several people while James sat on the counter and chatted with him about the upcoming game. Most times, Kyler annoyed James, though he’d never admit it, because what seemed to come naturally to Kyler, James had to fake. Like now, Kyler and everyone else wanted to talk about basketball. Yes, they won. No thanks to Kyler, because he was by far one of the weakest players on the team. Yes, they would probably win again next week. But those things didn’t matter to James. What he did like about Kyler Mason, is that Kyler never asked him about what happened in that church with Matt.

The past week, he’d been asked about it so many times, he felt like he should make a public service announcement to address the inquiring minds that were “just curious”.  Mrs. Lane wasn’t the only person who didn’t believe his “I don’t know” story.

But Kyler never asked. Never doubted him.

Maybe he’d already heard the story from one of the other guys on the team or around campus. But that didn’t matter. What did matter to James was that he did not ask.

Which is why, when Kyler was called away to attend to some emergency elsewhere, James took over serving drinks to the thirsty patrons. While he continued to sip on his own because everyone knew that drunk people are irritating to sober people, so he tried to move further away from sober, while not venturing into the drunk category either. So, he laughed at their jokes and told a few of his own. Took selfies with a few people that he would see on Instagram tomorrow. Snapchatted a tiny blonde girl down two full cups of ice cold “blue drink” in under a minute, which he had to admit was pretty fucking cool, even though she had to be carried out of the kitchen once the drinks finally hit her. And he even caught up with the notorious Nina White.

Nina stood in front of him with a huge grin on her face. She was arm in arm with another girl, as they held each other up. James crossed his arms over his chest at the sight of the tactless, overwrought girl he’d met a few days ago, now too drunk to stand up properly.

The friend looked between the two of them before she giggled and loudly whispered to Nina that she was going to “go find Ky,” and left them alone.

“Hey,” Nina said loudly over the pulse, “Congratulations on the game.”

“Thanks,” James ladled another serving of the drink in her cup that she pushed towards him, “I thought you’d be there.” When Nina started at him uncomprehendingly, he said, “For the interviews.”

“No, I know but,” Nina said, tucking her long curls over behind her ear, “I hadn’t helped you with your project yet. I didn’t think it was fair for me to get the benefits of the deal without having done anything.”

James certainly hadn’t thought of it that way, so he gave a shrug but didn’t answer.

“And,” She drew the word out, thinking, “I may have felt bad because of how I attacked you that day. With the questions. About your friend. So, sorry. About that…” her sentence trailed off awkwardly in the air as she waited for James to acknowledge it, staring down into her cup. When James still didn’t reply, Nina sat her cup down on the counter, the drink sloshing over the sides, making a mess. “Okay, you know what? Fine. It was exceedingly rude of me and I am incredibly sorry. It’s just that, I have to get the damn story before the newspaper. There.” She raised her hands up in exasperation, “They are outrageously quick.”

James felt the genuine smile on his face before he even thought to smile and Nina looked up at him and laughed.

“It’s okay, Nina,” he said, a strange feeling taking hold in his chest. Was he actually enjoying himself? “You never know when the newspaper might strike.” He slyly looked over his shoulders for added effect.

Nina laughed suddenly laughed again and her cheeks flushed a bright, ruddy color. “You know something, James? You are not at all what I expected. And I know this is only our second time meeting but I don’t know how to label you and it’s bothering me.”

This time, James laughed too, in earnest. “That sounds like you have some control issues you need to work on.”

“No. Usually, I can read people pretty well, but not you, James Grant?” she paused, her brown eyes to clear to be fully impaired, “Who are you?”

Another one of those impossible questions that he had no answers to, therefore he ignored. “Are you going to remember any of this tomorrow?”

Then her expression cleared and she smiled again, “Of course, I will. I’m not even drunk. I’m just pleasantly buzzed,” she said and missed her cup twice before succeeding in picking it up from the counter.

“Sure,” he said as Nina disappeared around the counter.

By then, it was very late. Or very early.

The container of blue drink was empty, so James considered his job done as he went and sat on the white painted rocking bench on the front porch of the Mason Manor, swaying back and forth in the breeze of the cool night. Out there, with the doors closed and the windows shut, he could hardly hear the music anymore. All he could feel was the steadying thump of the bass, whatever words accompanied them, lost across the medium.

It was blissfully silent.

James was decidedly conflicted.

Though Matt’s life was in danger, his video project was still the most important thing to him. It was his only ticket to the life he wanted to live and he couldn’t let anything get in the way of that. In doing so, he would be exploiting his friend for his own gain. But James had always wanted to do his project about the church, about the mystery of the Millwrights, but now that something more interested had happened or was going to, should he just avoid it?

He couldn’t let the opportunity go by.

So, he would do both, instead. He would find whatever “him” Matt or not-Matt wanted him to find, the same as he planned to do. He would just record it as well, and if something came of it, he would use it for his project. If not, he wouldn’t. Simple

Which is why he needed Nina. It was nothing sinister, what he had in mind. He just wanted her to narrate while they were there. She had the perfect voice for it. Low and haunting, mellow.

He could man the camera if he had to. Though it wasn’t his favorite thing to do, it could be done.

As for finding “him”, inside the old church, he needed someone else’s help for that. 

Then, like an act of God, the front door opened and closed with a bang and “someone” trudged down the three front steps onto the front lawn.

He recognized the man as he stumbled through the free cut grass, each step slower than the last until he made it to the pristine white BMW that was parked near the graveled street. Casey fumbled around in the pockets of his khaki uniform pants, he checked the left one, without success. Then, the right one and the left again.

James breathed out a sigh of relief as he watched him, grateful that he wouldn’t be expected to interfere if Casey tried to drive his car whilst drunk and he realized that the conversation could wait. Casey patted down his sweater next, and James’s relief was short lived as he pulled the car keys from the front pocket. But he wasn’t sure if Casey would be able to help if he was dead.

The car chirped and blue halogen headlight brightened the otherwise dark lawn as Casey pressed the button. He was so entirely focused on putting his hand on the handle to get the door open that he didn’t notice that James walked up beside him until they stood side by side.

Casey froze when his self-preservation instincts finally kicked in and he finally felt the presence of another person. Then, his face broke out in a delighted grin, “Ghost boy!” he said cheerfully, using the car door as a crutch to hold himself up, as he laughed at his own joke.

James nodded distractedly as he tried to gauge just how drunk the other man was and why none of his friends had come out to try to stop him. “Sorry,” Casey said, misreading James’s face, “I guess I shouldn’t call you that since I’m ghost boy too.” He flung his free arm out in the general vicinity of something on the other side of him and James assumed that he meant his ghost but nothing was there.

“I don’t see anything,” James said, studying their surroundings more intently.

Casey started to slide down his car but he dug his feet into the soft grass to keep himself upright and James watched him warily in case he really did fall. “You told me you could see them, remember. Last week?” He asked, unsure. “Then you said you wanted to talk, but you left.”

“I remember, Casey. What I meant is that I don’t see her right now,” James clarified. Casey turned back to look where he’d pointed before a dark look crossed over his face for a second before it evened itself out into something neutral. “And,” he said, eyeing Casey pointedly, “I still want to talk, but I don’t think now is the right time.”

“Is anytime ever the right time for anything?” Casey stumbled back and in the process, his key hit the ground with a quick jangle. Apparently forgetting his level of intoxication, he leaned down to get them before he thought better of it and James reached out to catch him before he hit the ground, next to his keys.

“I guess not,” James replied, quizzically and once Casey was steadied, he picked up the keys himself. “Were you headed back to campus?” James asked before walking Casey over to the passenger side of the car. When he nodded, James propelled him inside and walked back around to the driver’s side, getting in. “Great,” James said, “I needed a ride anyway.”

Casey raised an eyebrow at him or, at least that’s what James thought he was trying to do anyway. But he didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head back against the tan leather headrest and closed his eyes while they made the drive back to campus.

Once they’d drove through the gates of Easten University, James nudged a snoring Casey on the shoulder to find out where he lived. Casey pried one eye open and gave vague directions to the apartments on the west side of the campus. But the campus was large and there were multiple apartments on the west side. James hit one speed bump a little too fast and it jolted Casey fully away, to explain how to get to his apartment. Then, Casey leaned over the console and dug around in the backseat, retrieving a nearly full bottle of clear alcohol that James did not recognize the name of.

James watched him in his peripheral, as Casey unscrewed the bottle and gulped.

And suddenly, something became a lot clearer.

Swinging into the parking lot in front of Casey’s apartment, James shut the car off before turning back to Casey, who cradled the long, slim bottle in his arms like it was his child. He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror, the woman was there now.

Her sandy brown hair draped over her shoulders as crystal tears streamed down her pale face as she watched the man in the front seat. He made now move to look back at her.

“Who is she?” James asked, his voice too loud in the ethereal quiet for early morning parking lot conversations. When he met Casey, that first time in that café, he didn’t think to ask who the woman was. James saw a lot of ghosts throughout his life and yet he didn’t personally know a single one of them. He just thought that was how it worked. It never occurred to him that he didn’t see anyone he knew was because no one close to him had ever died.

Casey risked his own glance towards the backseat and the woman leaned forward to brush phantom fingertips against his cheek, making him flinch away from her and stare back straight ahead.

“She’s my mother,” he said blandly, taking another drink. “I don’t know why she follows me. She killed herself and now she won’t leave me alone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta-reader, so please point out any mistakes. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a short story that somehow turned into twenty-five chapters. It's mainly a side project that I'll be doing for harsh criticism to better my writing. So, please don't hesitate to tell me what you like and what you hate, in as many details as possible. Thanks for reading.


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